run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
The hand is numb, his arm feeling both heavy and like nothing but sharp sinking pain as he scrambles trying to hook his fingers into the metal. The panic continues, even as Danta’s words don’t register to him. They’re buried beneath everything else in his head — the blurred faces, scowling and laughing, morphing to large crows with razor sharp beaks.
And then, Danta touches him, and it’s with a force of which the Maverick has never seen that the butcher flinches, the bed jumping under the movement. His one good hand simply grabs the front of the muzzle and he pulls hard, straps be damned, tearing it from his face in a moment of panicked adrenaline granting him additional strength in favor for getting the fuck out of here.
Ah, but at his bare bones, he was built for survival and preservation. And pain is forgotten for the moment when he tosses the muzzle to the end of the bed, whirling on Danta faster than it should seem possible, and grabs the extended arm with a tight grip, twisting like a feral animal as he sinks his teeth into the muscled flesh of his lover’s arm, harder than he’s ever bit him before.
He doesn’t pull away, and despite it being the hardest bite, it’s still a warning. A threat.
And then, Danta touches him, and it’s with a force of which the Maverick has never seen that the butcher flinches, the bed jumping under the movement. His one good hand simply grabs the front of the muzzle and he pulls hard, straps be damned, tearing it from his face in a moment of panicked adrenaline granting him additional strength in favor for getting the fuck out of here.
Ah, but at his bare bones, he was built for survival and preservation. And pain is forgotten for the moment when he tosses the muzzle to the end of the bed, whirling on Danta faster than it should seem possible, and grabs the extended arm with a tight grip, twisting like a feral animal as he sinks his teeth into the muscled flesh of his lover’s arm, harder than he’s ever bit him before.
He doesn’t pull away, and despite it being the hardest bite, it’s still a warning. A threat.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
